The Avenger
by loopmutnauq
Summary: A sixteen year-old boy vs. the greatest dark wizard of all time. Crippling odds, at best.So what happens when Dumbeldore decides to even the playing field a little, tip the scales in favor of the light? Were talking super-powers and a bad-ass Potter.
1. Chapter 1

A/N : Ok, first off, slightly AU. Dumbeldore drops off Harry at the Dursleys. Apart from that, holds to Canon. The Story picks off from where the OOTP left off. Be thankful to all those who so graciously R&R.

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><p>A low-ceilinged, dimly-lit apartment-cum-work space was hardly a conducive atmosphere for some of the most ground-breaking research that the world had ever seen.<p>

" Just a little more GODDAMN TIME! ... " Rajesh yelled, brushing the clutter of papers, reference books, and a laptop off the table top. He was a diminutive, unhealthy looking fellow, clearly someone who had spent entirely too much time indoors. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and sported greying hair, but despite that, he exuded an intimidating aura, which coupled with his scholarly good-looks, lent him an impression of formidable intelligence. Definitely someone you'd want on your side.

"Ah yes! ... But, that's almost always the problem isn't it? " A hitherto unnoticed man stepped out of the shadows, a kindly smile on his face. He seemed bemused, like the mirthful, resigned expression of an old man who just couldn't explain to his 5 year old grandson where babies came from. He was old, with a flowing white beard, eccentric half-moon glasses, and a look in his eyes that possessed the boundless depth of age. But, despite that, he had an odd child-like bounce in his step.

Rajesh started, completely taken aback. He sucked in a breath, and held it, pushing up his glasses with a practiced flourish so they could perch more comfortably on his nose, as if to give the old man a chance to perhaps clarify; some sort of token of professional courtesy. In all rights, he should have been scared, but somehow, the stranger's presence there seemed to bring with it a strange, almost artificial calm. Nevertheless, it would be stupid of him to just assume that the stranger meant him no harm, and he began to edge slowly towards his revolver drawer. What could he be after? The research? ... But how did he come to find out about that? More importantly, would he be willing to kill for it?

"How did you get in?" Rajesh asked, bluntly, in such an even tone that, given the circumstances, he surprised himself. _'Good, good ... just ask him questions ... and keep stalling ... just like those American movies ... " _

"I think you'll soon find that it does not matter ... not after you know that I can also do this ... " He gestured gracefully, with some sort of wooden twig in his hand.

To Rajesh's complete and utter shock, wispy tendrils of some manner of dense, purplish haze began to cascade upon one another, seemingly condensing and solidifying. As Rajesh looked on, dumbfounded, a plush leather armchair now stood before him where nothing had just a moment ago.

"We both know that you aren't quite as surprised as you're expression would have me believe ... " The newcomer paused here, as if weighing his next words carefully.

"In fact, you have been desperately awaiting some sign, some display to convince you that those were not just the ramblings of old age."

"I have no idea what you are talking about ... "

A lie.

He knew perfectly well, but he had to be sure.

An uncomfortably long silence, in which the newcomer conjured up an ornate box in much the similar fashion as he had the chair, and pulled out what looked like a chunk of Turkish delight from it. He bit into it slowly and sparingly, but clearly, relishing the taste entirely.

"Your father, Rajesh. All those mutterings and ramblings that you chalked up to senility and old age; well, I'm afraid that was just an inevitable consequence of suppressing rather strongly ingrained memories."

Rajesh decided to abandon all pretense now. It was all true, everything that his father had said, everything that he so obsessively rambled on about. It was the reason that he was declared senile and hospitalized here in Delhi, where he'd remained until his final breath. But this was amazing ... by Vishnu it was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. It confirmed everything that he had long since suspected. This would change everything ... it mattered not now that he was unjustly and unceremoniously dismissed form his post as head scientist on the top secret 'super-soldier' program that he had headed for DRDO; it did not matter that he was discredited and shamed before the entire scientific community, his name dragged through the mud; it did not matter that years of laborious research had yielded absolutely no viable results; no, because this, if he could explore it, would point his career in a whole new direction. Magic exists! ; what the old man had just performed was no parlor trick. All of his dad's notes, all those equations, those formulations ... they would all make sense ... he was sure of it. He just needed that opportunity. This would be his claim to fame ... his chance at glory.

He looked towards the old man, noticing that he now had a frown plastered on his face. Rajesh had a fleeting impression that the old man somehow knew what he was thinking, but dismissed it instantly ... mind reading? ... he was sure they didn't have that ... what folly!

"You knew my father then ... how, may I ask? " Rajesh said, composedly.

"No, no ... not personally I'm afraid. In fact I only met him once, but the circumstances then were hardly what one would call amiable ... " He stopped chewing into the turkish delight at this point, and solemnly placed the box down; a sad look crossed his face. Rajesh had an irking suspicion why.

"You mentioned something about suppressing memories ... " Rajesh paused here, noticing that the look on the old man's face was growing increasingly pained. It was all the confirmation he needed.

"You did that to him ... didn't you?' he seethed. It was nearly impossible for him to keep the fury out of his tone, so he let it flow freely. "He had somehow learnt something he shouldn't have, something about your ways and customs. I'd imagine, seeing as no one is aware of your kind, that this is viewed as a serious transgression, and that steps had to be taken to ensure that he was silenced." he was only mildly aware now that the words were flowing in an ominous crescendo.

All of a sudden, he felt nothing but irrepressible hatred and anger towards the wizened old man who sat before him, which was surprising given his composed and even-headed nature. This was the reason his family was torn apart, the reason that he grew up without a father and an emotionally withdrawn, practically non-existent mother.

The old man sighed, placing a sombre hand over his eyes.

"You are ... an extremely perceptive young man ... I must say I ... " he began, bowing his head down.

"YOU KILLED HIM! ... YOU'RE THE REASON HE'S DEAD ... AND YOU JUST SIT THERE WITH YOUR SELF-RIGHTEOUS ... AAH FUCK! ... " He threw his hands up in resignation, trying to stem the flow angry tears now threatening to burst out. He took in a deep breath, and ran one hand over his face in an attempt to calm himself. No ... no ... this wouldn't do ... there was no point in getting angry at this man ... he was probably just doing his job, following orders ... and besides, Rajesh was not a vindictive person by nature.

The old man looked up, a pleading look now plastered on his face. "You must understand ... he was bent on revealing those findings to the muggle world at large and ...

"I'm sorry ... the what world?" Rajesh fumed.

" Muggle - meaning non-magical people, and as I was saying, it just wouldn't do for muggles to find out about our kind ... you must understand ... it is human nature ... they will come to see our gift as a power that they cannot tap into, and not before long, a threat to their very existence ...

"Yes ... I can see where you're going ... World War III just asking to happen right? ... I understand your government's motive with this 'law' ... " He was staring intently at the old man, a scathing frown plastered on his face. But he understood, the consequences would have been disastrous. In fact, he couldn't really understand why he had such a violent knee-jerk reaction to that. It wasn't like he was and his father were on the best of terms anyway, and his death really wasn't the old man's fault.

"The Statute Of Secrecy, yes ..." His voice had all but lost its tone of superiority, as if in some sort of humbled repentance.

"Indeed ... I am quite sure that your government has been doing this kind of thing a lot; I daresay it must be easy to keep an entire civilization a secret, with or without magical means ..." He trailed off.

A long silence.

"String theory." The old man said, breaking the now unbearable silence. It seemed that he had now regained his composure.

Rajesh looked at him, quizzically. But he knew all too well where the old man was going with this.

"You want details? ... In fact, how do you know about that? My father's notes?" Rajesh replied. His gaze turned stern, but the old man didn't so much as cringe. It seemed the time for hostilities had passed, and business was at hand. And the old man looked like he meant business. Besides, the scientist in Rajesh could not resist an opportunity to explain things that were beyond most people. A show of scholarly condescension was just what his aching nerves needed right then.

A short chuckle.

"My boy, I practically came up with String Theory. Any serious magical theoretician is in touch with the developments in the world of theoretical physics. It provides a certain perverse kind of 'comic relief' to watch muggle scientists stumble in the dark with ideas that are so clearly above their comprehension." By this time the old man seemed to be fighting hard to keep the smile off his face.

"But, admittedly, your kind does come up with interesting insights ever so often, so, we keep tabs. At times we also intervene and point you in the right direction, hence catalyzing the birth of milestones in physics. Case in point : String Theory."

Rajesh gave of an 'harrumph' of indignation. "You honestly expect me to believe that ... "

"I never place my expectations in trivialities of that sort. What you do or do not believe is of no consequential concern to me. I do, however expect one thing of you." The smile slid off his face as abruptly as it had appeared. Business was at hand again.

Rajesh sensed that this was his cue to drop the argument, and somehow, he thought it wise that he took the old man's cues.

"And that would be ... "

"Your full cooperation, which, believe me, is entirely within my power to just take." the old man said, testily.

"But you wouldn't do that ... " Rajesh said, a slightly cautious edge to his voice.

"You will be handsomely compensated, I can assure you that much."

Rajesh took in a deep breath, composing himself. He had made his decision long back. This was just too good to pass up.

"Lets talk strings then ... "

"Indeed ... lets ... "

"I will assume henceforth that you have a considerable working knowledge of the theory ... so I am going to quit, as the British say, 'dallying'."

"Looks like everyone's on the same page then." The old man reclined in his plush leather armchair, and crossed his fingers, now peering directly over them at Rajesh. It was a frighteningly intimidating look, but Rajesh was unperturbed.

"Except, I don't know your name ... "

"You can call me Albus."

A short pause. Then Rajesh began.

"As my father's notes would have me believe, The Theory of Magic and it's properties tie in very nicely with String Theory. Essentially, what my father was getting at, is that magical folk are different from non-magical folk in that they have been endowed, through the course of evolution, with the ability to manipulate the vibrational modes of these subatomic strings. For example ... when magicians summon light, they modulate the vibrational states of the open-ended strings, which produces photons, and hence, illumination. My father has explained the birth of such 'string control' by assuming the insertion of an alien mutagen at some point during the course of human evolutionary history. Hence, a new segment of genetic code that would somehow enable magical folk to control matter by manipulating strings, and produce the awesome effects that we have come to lump under the category 'magic'. This has to have happened fairly recently, given that magical folk have effectively segregated themselves from non-magical folk, and formed entire civilizations in secret."

" Hmm ... yes ... at least as recent as the birth of human civilization. Indeed, if magical folk hadn't realized the need to segregate themselves from non-magical folk, our species would have annihilated itself through war. And such realization could only have come if they had developed these powers concomitantly with the birth of civilization. I see what you're getting at."Albus paused here, a thoughtful look crossing his features.

"But how exactly is string theory is the perfect way to approach a consistent 'Theory of Magic' ? "

" 'D-branes' and the 'Calabi-Yau Manifold' ... "

"Ah ... I see ... "

Another awkward pause, renting the air with the weight of unasked questions.

"What ... what exactly do you want me to do for you ... I mean I ...

"I need you to reverse engineer the super-soldier serum that you have been working on for the DRDO. I need it to be potent enough to magnify one's mana and metabolic rate a hundred-fold." Albus replied. It was startlingly blunt, and almost sounded rehearsed.

Rajesh stared at him, dumbfounded. " I wouldn't even know where to begin with that ... I mean ... I ... the project was a dead end. They threw me out. This ... this is a futile pursuit ... I ... " he spat, flustered.

"Not if I point you in the right direction. You have your father's notes, I'll provide you with the missing links. You are the best man for the job." Albus' gaze seem to intensify at this point, almost as if that would drive the point home better.

"It can be done" he finished, letting the unsettling silence take over again.

" I ... " Rajesh wanted to argue, but then decided against it. It's wasn't as if he had better things to do with his life anyway; he decided to settle for quizzing the old man.

"What do you want it for anyway? ... planning to build yourself some kind of biogenetically-enhanced army?" he said, blithely.

Albus chuckled. Rajesh hated that chuckle. It was almost condescending, but not quite. It made him feel rather like an ignorant child.

" I have my reasons. You will learn of them in due time."

Rajesh stared at him, sizing him up. But there was no besting this man, that much he could tell. He gave in, throwing his hands up in frustration, and letting out a pointedly audible groan "Fine ... since it looks like you are dictating all the terms here, and there's nothing I can do about it, why don't we just move on ... "

"And once again, we are on the same page." He chuckled. "You are very good at that now aren't you?"

Rajesh ignored this. He found that he was appreciating Albus' particular brand of humor less and less by the minute.

"So ... what ... you have a secret lair for me to work out of?" Rajesh said, the caustic edge to his voice more pronounced than before.

Albus chuckled. Again. "Actually, I do. Something very much to that effect."

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><p>Albus slowed down his brisk pace to a trot. There was no hurry. Such an unfounded sense of urgency; clearly indicative of old age, and definitely an impediment to his otherwise fine-tuned senses.<p>

A soft whoosh, intangible to all but the most well-trained of ears.

"Minerva, you made it."

A soft cry of indignation. "And when have I ever turned you down. Always the tone of surprise isn't it?"

Albus chuckled. "Quite ... "

The closely packed houses of Little Whinging, and the downtrodden atmosphere it brought with it seemed to borrow nothing from the air of purposefulness surrounding Albus.

He stopped abruptly.

"This is it ... "

"Are you quite sure about this Albus? ... " Minerva said, a slight weariness to her tone.

"The decision has been made ... It is the only way Minerva ... "

He lifted up a syringe, holding what appeared to be a viscous semi-transparent fluid. Rajesh had told him that a single dose should suffice. He tapped the syringe once, and then, with an elegant flourish, produced a small bundle in his free hand. On closer inspection, it appeared that he was carrying a baby boy, wrapped up snugly in two layers of cotton blankets, and sleeping soundly. A small lightning bolt shaped scar was just visible below the incipient mat of hair that the boy sported. Minerva was slightly thrown by the abrupt cuteness that was now facing her, but Albus did not betray any change in composure. He calmly brought the syringe up to the soft skin of the baby's forearm, and with a cold purposefulness that almost frightened Minerva, injected the fluid into the baby's bloodstream. The baby stirred, ever so slightly, but with a wave of his hand, Albus commanded the child back to what would be the last dreamless sleep he would ever have the pleasure of experiencing.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N : Okay, I am going to add one more element of AU to this story, i.e, Sirius Black does not get killed in the duel in the Department Of Mysteries. He takes out Bellatrix instead. I just absolutely NEED Black around. I think he is one of the most brilliant characters ever penned down by JKR. And besides, he is going to be pivotal in the development of the plot. And thanks for all the reviews, sure as hell made my day, many times over. I'd like to thank Nymphadora in particular, for those reviews which were incredibly well thought out and were nothing short of an absolute pleasure to read.

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><p>A hot white flash.<p>

Pain.

Unbearable.

Like a thousand tiny needles were bursting out of his body. The kind of pain that's so intense, you expect it to stop any second.

But it just went on.

He tried concentrating on it.

Didn't help.

He wasn't aware of whether he was screaming or not, but he knew that it didn't really matter. Nothing did. He just wanted it to stop.

_Kill me now. Please just ... kill ... make it stop ..._

A tiny room came into focus all of a sudden. A table lamp landed in front of his face with a loud thud, and just as soon as it had come, the incongruous image faded away.

Spots.

Loud footsteps, or maybe he was just imagining it.

Really hard to be sure.

A few seconds later, a loud crash. This was more definitive.

" WHAT IN THE WORLD? ... OF ALL THE UNGODLY ... " A harsh voice, strikingly unkind. But he couldn't care less. The pain just had to go away.

" DUDLEY! ... DUDLEY! ... stay back dear ... Vernon I think we need to get a doctor ... " softer more feminine tones. A doctor. Yes ... yes ... that would help. Just make it stop.

A crash.

Glass breaking probably.

More searing pain, like his insides were being roasted.

" DOCTOR! ... I AM NOT SHELLING OUT MY HARD EARNED MONEY JUST BECAUSE ... FUCK! ... PETUNIA HE'S BREAKING THINGS! ... YOU ... " A resounding crack. Something had snapped.

"VERNON! ... IT'S NOT SAFE VERNON ... " A thud. "Trust me on this Vernon ... this is unnatural ... it's not safe."

The conversation was receding, but he could still catch snippets. Not that he cared. The pain was just too intense.

Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. As abruptly as it had caught on.

Harry's vision swam into focus. An unnatural clarity pervaded his sight, but he didn't so much as notice. He was too busy trying to catch his breath, barely aware that he was now on all fours. He knew the pain would return, and not before long. He tensed up. Now that the pain had stopped, he was able to hold on to a coherent, rational train of thought.

He might as well mentally prepare himself for the inevitable, he decided.

"I DO NOT WANT THOSE WHACK-JOBS IN MY HOUSE AGAIN ... PETUNIA ... PETUNIA! ..."

"Vernon it's not safe ... " Aunt Petunia's softer tones. This he was barely able to catch, and the ringing in his ears was not helping.

"...not end well. "

"DON'T YOU REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED THE LAST TIME ... AAH GODDAMN IT!"

"Don't want the neighbours to ... not ... they'll think ... saying things ... "

Harry tensed up again, straining again to listen to the conversation. It wasn't easy, given that he was finding it excruciatingly hard to so much as sit up straight. They were calling one of the Weasleys from the sound of it. Or ... Dumbeldore! Yes that would be perfect. Dumbeldore would know what to do. He tried to muster the remainder of his energy. He needed to call out, to make sure they would get him.

"CALL DUMBELDO ... " And then, it hit once again. He knew it would just a split second before it actually did, but that didn't make him any more prepared for what was to follow. It was a hundred times worse than the first bout. A veritable explosion of nerve endings. It reminded him of the Cruciatus curse he was on the receiving end of just before the summer, but the potency of Voldemort's 'Crucio' paled in comparison to this. This time around, he could hear himself screaming. He was telling himself to stop it, to get a hold of himself, but that wasn't helping either. It felt like his intestines were being shredded from the inside.

"AARGH! ... GOD! ... MAKE IT STOP PLEASE! ... AARGH! ... " He was convulsing, thrashing about and turning the bedroom inside out. Vision swam into focus once again, unnaturally clear as before. The pain abated a notch, but was still unbearable. He was aware now that he was on the landing just in front of his bedroom, lying flat on his back. He stuffed his knuckles into his mouth and bit down hard to keep himself from yelling out. His breathing was raspy; the stabs of pain that resulted from having to breath were too great. He rolled over onto his belly, and shut his eyes tight, willing the pain to stop as fervently as he could, only mildly aware by now that his knuckles were bleeding heavily, and that the blood was dripping down the stairs, pooling at the bottom of the first one.

What was wrong with him? Was this how he would die? He felt he would, but he decided that it did not matter so long as the pain went away. Why was this happening to him, and when would it stop? It was too hard to focus on all these questions. It was all he could do to redirect the remainder of his mental faculties and concentrate on the pain, in some sort of effort to control it.

"Oh God ... oh God ... oh ... God ... stop it ... just please ..." It came out in broken bits, punctuated by painful gulps of air.

"_SA__NARE" _A voice rang out, frighteningly intimidating, but strangely calm. The pain abated, almost entirely. His vision darkened, and then, everything was still.

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><p>Mafalda Hopkirk was more than just a little irked at the moment to say the least. What was this, the fourth instance? It was high time she paid the boy a personal visit. True enough, there was no wand signature, and wandless magic of that strength was practically impossible for mature wizards, let alone a 16 year old boy. So it definitely was a case of accidental magic, just like that time the boy went and blew up his aunt.<p>

The atmosphere surrounding the nondescript town of Little Whinging was cripplingly mundane, and she felt the sense of purpose drain out of her. But she still marched on, stern expression plastered on her face. Now that her feline aggression had been stroked, she would not rest easy until she got to vent off some steam. And what better way to do that than to tell someone off.

She stopped dead in front of No. 4 Privet Drive and rapped on the door sternly. A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal the bloated and extremely unpleasant face of Vernon Dursley. Before she could say anything, he beat her to it.

"I will not have anymore of this nonsense. Your lot cannot keep barging in here like you own the goddamn place! ... "

"I take it you are Mr. Potter's legal guardian. I am sorry, but I am going to have to enter your house, and if that idea does not sit too well with you sir, then I'd suggest exercising a little more control over your ward. It is, after all, only your responsibility to ensure that he does not ... say ... 'accidentally' blow up an entire neighborhood!" Her voice was alarmingly cold. She had not rescheduled her meeting with the Prime Minister just so she could take flak form some fat, bigoted idiot. In fact, She was more than used to dealing with characters like Vernon Dursley, and reveled in the challenge it presented to tell off a total douche.

Vernon paled a little. It seemed the idea of his neighborhood being blown up did not appeal to him one bit. Nor did he think it particularly wise to cross swords with this woman.

"Alright, get in, but make it quick. I am sick and tired of having to bend over backwards for your lot all day ... " He muttered something further under his breath, and stormed away to the living room.

She ascended the stairs calmly, instinctively knowing that Harry's bedroom was the one at the first landing of the staircase. The magical signature heavily permeated the atmosphere, so thick she could almost taste it. The door was left ajar, and her stomach did a sudden, uncomfortable swoop as she peered in.

"Mafalda. So extremely glad you could join me." Dumbeldore's calculated tones intimidated her, but she was hardly one for backing down.

"How is it that everytime something happens concerning that boy, I find you right in the thick of it?" Her tone wavered slightly, but held the sharp brook-no-nonsense character she had grown accustomed to dishing out.

"Bizarre coincidences indeed! Mafalda, I'll think you'll find that in times such as these, the fates really do devise some twisted machinations. And by some inexplicable character of the human psyche, we almost always find ourselves playing the unsuspecting pawn." He didn't look up as he said this, his hands hovering languidly over Harry's body, which glowed a very faint blue.

"Dishing out cryptic hogwash to turn the conversation may work on most people you encounter Albus, but please do not insult my intelligence by trying that out with me." She moved closer as she said this, noting the limp form of Harry Potter on the bed. It seemed that the burst of accidental magic had taken a lot out of him. Ever so often, he would twitch, but despite all that, he had a strangely healthy look.

"Then I ask that you do not insult mine by asking questions to which, as you fully well know, I cannot give an answer." he looked up, that kindly, bemused smile still plastered on his face. Though, it seemed to Mafalda, the characteristic twinkle in his eye had lost it's brilliance.

"And besides, if you really found that cryptic, then I'm afraid that you do not have much of an intelligence to speak of, given that it was rather straightforward." The twinkle in his eye returned. He seemed to have found that rather amusing.

Mafalda groaned inwardly. She really disliked being treated like she was merely an object of amusement, and not someone to be taken seriously, despite the reverential high pedestal that she held for Dumbeldore. But, she was above a knee-jerk reaction to her wounded professional pride.

She decided to try something else.

"You know Albus, they are calling him the 'Chosen One'."

"Yes, well, then this wouldn't be the first time 'they' were proven wrong now would it."

"So you are denying the possibility?"

"You know, you are beginning to sound rather like that incredibly annoying woman from the 'Daily Prophet' ... I forget her name ..."

"Rita skeeter?"

"Yes, yes, her." He dropped what he was doing with the boy and turned to face her, looking her in the eye for the first time since her entry. She sensed this was her cue to drop the topic. She wisely took the cue.

"No letter for a disciplinary hearing this time around?" Albus smiled at her, almost mockingly. It had an unnerving 'I-told-you-so' edge to it. But she didn't blame him. The ministry under Fudge really did screw up bad.

"You know full well that the ministry does not, as a matter of policy, enforce disciplinary action for accidental magic!" she said, indignation evident.

"Yes, but I can't seem to recall the last time that the Ministry actually held to policy." The mocking smile widened. It was becoming almost intolerable now.

She merely huffed, deciding to draw the conversation back to the business at hand.

"I trust that you have this under control, or must I appoint a Ministry specialist. I mean, I don't have to tell you that signatures of this magnitude, they are indicative of potentially life threatening accidental magic." She paused for a second, as if in deliberation. "I imagine it must not have been easy for the boy, given what he has been through, but honestly Albus, this is ridiculous! Is there nothing you want to tell me? Despite what you may think, I may be of some help." It had been quite a while since she had tried this approach with Albus. Back then, it would always work.

Albus smiled, for the first time kindly. She had the fleeting impression that he was reading her thoughts, but dismissed it instantly. Surely she would have felt the probe on her occlumency barriers.

"Coming to think of it, I do have a favor to ask of you." He hesitated here, just for a brief instant. And then the tension in the atmosphere dropped abruptly, and a strange artificial calm pervaded the environment. She knew that there was something strikingly out-of-place about that, but somehow, it did not matter. Very little did right then. All she wanted to do was bask in the sudden yet compelling serenity. It was intoxicating.

"Would it be asking too much if that report were to disappear under the endlessly growing pile of paperwork in you office. Or better yet, if it was somehow destroyed." It was pointedly curt. Sounded almost rehearsed.

Yes, that made so much sense. Of course she would do that for him, it was such a compelling notion! Destroy the report. People don't need to know about this, and the publicly available logs were perused with alarming frequency. It was only fitting.

"Yes. Yes of course Albus, I understand."

She made to leave at this point. Clearly, the conversation was over.

"Oh, and Mafalda, don't worry about that specialist, I've got this under control." that smile, just so recently unnerving, was now strangely compelling. Of course he had this under control, she needn't worry. If anyone could contain this, it was Albus.

She smiled back, nodding in acknowledgement.

Somehow, she knew that she would sleep well tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N : Sorry for the long hiatus. Seems like the long break has gotten my writing a little rusty. Anyway ... this chapter is a little short, but I really wanted to try my hand at writing a cliffhanger, and I couldn't think of a better place to get that in. One last thing. I would be so eternally grateful if you guys took the time to put up a short review. Those really do make my day, and I think I speak for all fanfic authors when I emphasize the extent to which we thrive on them. Also, I do know my writing skills leave a lot to be desired. So it would be really helpful if the more experienced writers who chance upon this fic leave behind a honest critique. Be gentle though ... this is my first attempt at serious fanfiction. Ok I'm done. I'll leave you to it now. Enjoy.

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><p>No ... no ... wait ... that couldn't be right now could it?<p>

How could he be feeling so strangely ... liberated?

There was so much ... heat.

It was painful, but he was pleasantly surprised to discover that he could just tune it out. It was very hard to describe, yet, it was the most natural thing in the world.

He understood it now, that essential structure. It was what had been bothering him his entire life, he just didn't know it till now.

A sudden blast of heat. It hurt like hell, but he could command it to not matter. It was so easy; so natural; so fitting. Like some colossal void that had existed in his hitherto meaningless existence had somehow instantly sealed itself.

Harry's senses leaped into focus. Was someone calling out his name? They were other people too.

He could discern voices now, all agitated and panicky. Ron, Hermoine, Mrs. Weasley ...

They were all screaming. Harry's stomach swooped. It was an almost alien sensation to him now, after the fulfillment he had just experienced, and the sharp incongruity struck him hard. It was now unbearable. He had to do something. Clearly something was wrong, he had to act. It would kill him if he found that someone was hurt. No ... no ... that wouldn't happen ... he had to act.

The smell of wooden cinders and burnt out grass filled his senses. He coughed violently, feeling an incredibly heavy weight on his person. Once again, he smoothly commanded it not to matter.

And then, something he had never felt before completely impregnated his consciousness. It wasn't really power, and it wasn't really his.

It made perfect sense.

It wasn't really power, because power was such a petty concept. Such a human concept. It was a sheer abhorrence to even think of this as that. He could now see how he was a part of it all, how the little cogs fit into the grand scheme of things.

All he had to do was to understand, and derive. That was the only way he could explain it. It was so ... fitting!

A beautiful feeling. He somehow knew that the human language and thought process had not and never would evolve to the stage where he could put what he was now experiencing in words.

He could now feel the energy rushing in hard against his extremities, demanding to be let out.

He complied, humbly.

There was a resounding crash, and Harry's vision finally fell into focus.

What greeted him was utter chaos. What was happening? He was at the Burrow clearly, but the Burrow itself? It was completely and utterly destroyed. The facade was entirely charred out, and huge areas of it were missing. Whole sections of masonry were jutting out precariously, and unsightly holes in the woodwork gaped out at him. He looked up, seeing another gaping hole where Ron's section of the bedroom was supposed to be. It appeared that he had somehow fallen through from there, because he found that he was directly underneath the hole. But surely, he wouldn't have survived that fall would he?

An explosion near his feet. Harry leaped out of the way, instinctively pulling out his wand. But somehow, he felt he wouldn't need it.

He looked around, and, with a horrifying swoop in his gut, realized that there was a full fledged battle going on.

Once again, the sharp incongruity of feeling panic pierced him sharply. It was all he could do not to register it.

Another explosion, dangerously close. He dived behind a pile of wood, seemingly another detached section of the Burrow.

He willed himself to focus, to ignore the discomfort swelling within him, and to suppress the questions bursting out of him. Right now, his only priority was to make sure that the Weasleys were safe. Questions would be addressed later.

And then, a wave of new-found focus hit him. Everything was ten times clearer. Everything seemed seemed so much slower, easier to take in, easier to analyse. It was staggering. He felt strangely calm, almost as if something alien had lodged itself inside of him, telling him that it was useless to panic, and equipping him to act.

He looked to his left, and there, about 20 meters away from him, he could see Mrs. Weasley, together with Ron, Hermoine and Ginny, taking cover behind the Ford Anglia. Strangely enough, the Anglia itself was entirely intact, almost as if it had been untouched by the curses flying around haphazardly. Clearly, some kind of advanced enchantment had been placed on the vehicle.

A mild stab of relief coursed through him. They were safe for now, and as a quick look to the behind him confirmed, the battle was concentrated in the large expanse of ground just in front of the Burrow, where members of the Order were locked in a desperate bid to overpower a small battalion of Death Eaters. The Order was clearly outnumbered. Roughly about 3 to 1.

Instantly, unthinkingly, he grabbed a sturdy looking plank of wood, and used it to hoist himself into the air, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that he could, as he had suspected, clear the 10 meter high pile of wood that he was crouching behind.

Almost effortlessly.

He looked down, at the zenith of his super-leap. The figures below looked so tiny that it was hard to see how it had mattered so much to him just a few seconds ago.

But his focus was unshaken.

A loud crack and a ominous cloud of dust announced his decisive arrival onto the battlefield.

It had the expected effect.

The battle scene froze, and it would have struck Harry as comic had the situation been less dire. Everyone now turned to face him, and he could feel, for the first time in what seemed a very long time, a strange mix of tension and foreboding. He was only now beginning to acknowledge the full repercussions of possessing such 'power'. At any rate, if what he was feeling was any indication, then he should finish off the battle without breaking a sweat. Decision made, he lunged forward, understanding and deriving. He humbly channeled the energy through his veins, and forced it into his leg muscles. The result was surprisingly effective, and the resultant burst of speed nearly threw Harry off balance. Harry then launched himself into the air, aiming for the nearest Death Eater. The incoming stupefy was deftly deflected back by a perfectly timed 'Protego' cast by a graceful arc of his forearm.

It came so naturally that he didn't even have to think or say it. Only will it.

He landed elegantly near a now stupefied Death Eater. Deciding to spare himself the effort of casting another spell, he proceeded to lift up the Death Eater by the collar, and launch him like a projectile against a small troop of Death Eaters now charging him. The stupefied Death Eater sliced through the air seamlessly, and rammed painfully into two members of the charging troop. A sickening crunch, and the two were out for the count.

Harry smiled.

Now that was just plain neat.

The remaining charged on, and, imposing as their rigor was, it was clear to Harry that their resolve had been abruptly punctured by his arrival.

He ducked beneath two or three jets of green light, and sidestepped a potentially damaging 'reducto'; letting the resultant spray of mud spatter across his forehead, lodging itself shamelessly into his unkempt shock of hair.

Lifting his hand, he wordlessly levitated the furthest of the small pack, and the intensely chagrined Death Eater struggled helplessly as invisible bonds kept him about 4 feet off the ground. He then yelled pointlessly, as Harry tossed his body unceremoniously and uncompromisingly into two of the intensely confused little troop. Another bout of sickening crunches, and Harry decided that he rather enjoyed the straightforward yet perverse irony of using the enemy against the enemy. He wasn't aware now of whether people were staring at him, but he didn't really care.

He was really enjoying himself.

At this rate he should be able to wrap this up in a matter of minutes, and no one would be harmed.

But he barely had time to so much as register the relief. A deafening howl, horribly familiar, rent the stifled air, and a spasm of terror shot through his limbs, numbing his senses.

And sure enough, as he turned around to confront the inevitable, he was greeted by the gargantuan silhouette of the biggest Warewolf he had ever seen, speeding towards him at a juggernaut pace, picking up momentum impossibly fast. He stood rooted to the spot in terror, and with the biggest burst of resolve he had ever pulled off, lifted up his arms to brace himself for the decidedly painful impact.

He was really hard pressed to see how it would do any good though.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N : It's been a while since my last update ... sorry ... college kept me busy. Nothing much to say here ... just ... if you could find it within yourself to ... I don't know ... maybe leave behind a review or something ... it'd be much appreciated ... don't really want to come off as desperate or anything ... but ... yeah.

Review.

Please.

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><p>Brigga frowned. The older man was later than usual.<p>

He turned his gaze now to the muggle.

Diminutive, unhealthy man; the very sight repulsed him.

Pale lighting offered by a lone, flickering bulb put his spirit at unease, bouncing off the chipped floorboards intermittently; the fear had a thick, distinct odor.

He shuffled a little, barely making a sound. His half-giant form needed some space, and if this was going to take time, he might as well get comfortable.

"Ah Rajesh ... you came!" Brigga didn't jump, only because he was trained not to. The voice, however, sent chills down his spine.

The imposing frame of Albus Dumbeldore came sauntering in through the doorway, a manner of complacence settled in around him instantly.

It creeped the shit out of Brigga.

"What have you to show me then Albus? ... let's get it over with ... I'd like to see why this couldn't have been done at the mansion." Rajesh's gruff tones were racier than ever; that stereotypical Delhi brawl came oozing out in a practiced monotone.

Albus looked at Rajesh quizzically for a second, then abruptly began pacing.

Brigga liked that ... the pacing ... the encounter would be short then, he could get back to his woman soon.

Sylvia always did hate these interruptions.

"First order of business then ... I trust it would be of some interest to you to learn that your serum has been put to use ... " The tone was precise. Not overwhelmingly calm, or weighed, but precise.

Brigga smiled inwardly ... "boss man" wouldn't like that one bit ...

Rajesh started " You've injected the boy! ..."

Albus cringed, ever so slightly. "To be precise, yes."

"Well ... ?" The eager look of a manic schoolboy was now plastered on his face.

"He has survived ... no visible side-effects at the very least. Let's hope it stays that way." he said, in a matter-of-fact monotone.

"When could I expect the serum to take effect?" He looked directly at Rajesh while saying this. It was slightly disconcerting.

"Hard to say ... sporadic magical maturity of any form could trigger the DNA polymerases ... his 11th birthday would be a good bet ... but the way it works out here, I cannot be sure"

A thoughtful look crossed Albus' face. He stopped pacing, and habitually readjusted his half-moon spectacles.

He knew what had to be done. Technical knowledge of this kind ... he couldn't risk it out in the open. In his experience, these things had an annoying habit of getting into the wrong hands. He lifted his wand up, letting a faint, stray moonbeam catch the brazen Acacia wood. The least he owed this gentleman was an explanation.

"Well, Rajesh, I'm afraid our time together has run it's course." Rajesh started, perplexed. He did not seem to be expecting this. "But rest assured, your contributions will leave their mark on history, and while I shall never quite forgive myself for doing what I am about too, I'm sure you, of all people, will understand it's necessity." His wand was now directly pointed at Rajesh, who seemed unable to register what was happening.

"Albus, I ... Were are you goi ... " He stopped short as the heavy realization hit him, and his mouth sprang open in horror. He stepped back a few inches, in a ditch effort to try and avoid the memory charm.

Grima looked on in shock as numerous ethereal tendrils began cascading upon one another, shooting up from the tip of Albus' wand, seemingly all but ready to strangle the shocked muggle.

This wouldn't do at all.

He had to act.

A blur of motion, and a small swoosh from where the complex invisibility enchantments were suddenly lifted.

The tendrils died instantly, and Albus barely had time to get his shield up in response to the lethal looking projectile that came flying his way. The resulting explosion was tremendous.

It tore through the warehouse, sending shrapnel into the river directly below, and Albus flying through the night sky.

A smooth wave of hand, and his broom came flying toward him, giving him just enough time to slow down so he could hit the water without breaking anything.

It still hurt.

He climbed out onto the banks, thoroughly drenched, inwardly groaning at how poorly timed his 'protego' was. The heat from the bruning 3-story warehouse behind him prickled his neck.

He looked around. The area was reasonably secluded, but it wouldn't be long now before the explosion attracted people out of their sleepy homes.

He deliberated for a second, and berated himself for another. He should have checked the area, it was utterly naive of him to simple assume that their wouldn't be a third party already involved, with or without his knowledge. His guess was that it was likely a wand-for-hire.

He decided that it was futile giving pursuit. If the abduction was any indication, then this third-party meant business. The assailant likely had a spell-activated portkey on him.

Another short wave of his wand, and he was comfortably dry again. A second swish, and he was no longer there. A strange stillness retook the area for a moment, only to be disturbed by the distant wails of police sirens.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Wow. It's been a while since I've been on here ... or even written anything really. I was sitting around playing tired old j-rpgs when I realised that I just couldn't get my epic action-adventure fix no matter where I looked. This ... this works. And I miss this story.

Bit of a rushed chapter, this is me kind of sending out feelers. If anyone's still interested in this story please please please review. That would be all the motivation I need to keep this going. I promise future chapters will be more well thought out, better pacing, and better written. I've gotten a little rusty from the huge break. So yeah ... I'll leave you to it.

Please review.

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><p>Harry groaned inwardly. The protective charms on the Anglia had cushioned his impact considerably. The werewolf had sent him slamming right through the side door, breaking through the shield.<p>

The second thing he shouldn't have survived that night.

Awkwardly scrunched up in the back form the assault, he was staring right at its menacing form from inside the Anglia, slowly and deliberately marching toward him.

Now he was panicking.

'I had it under control … fuck! …' . Using whatever was left of the back seat for support, he tried to hoist himself forward and up out of the gaping hole that should've been a side door.

"GAHHHH!" A sudden intense pain shot up his spine. There in all it's sanguine glory, he spotted a short steel rod from one of the headrests that he had gone and gotten himself impaled on, poking out through his right gut. There was blood everywhere.

Vision swimming out of focus, he tried again. He was able to block out the pain before … maybe if he just ignored it the right way …

Didn't work.

"FUCK … ARGHH!" …

The werewolf was a couple of meters away now. A manic look of relish crossed it's jagged features.

It wanted to make him hurt.

A fleeting look of confusion replaced the jubilant sneer as Harry looked on. Then there was a sudden crunch. A huge flaming mass of debris out of nowhere had struck it square in the face. It stumbled, letting out a howl of agony and furiously dabbing at the cinders lodged in its fur. But the unidentified assailant had barely made a dent in its progress. It trundled on, somewhat clumsily, but seemingly more intent now that its face was half-charred.

Another flaming chunk of debris, this one it sidestepped, unnaturally agile for it's build. It seemed it could no longer ignore the unannounced assailant. It turned, grinning through fresh burns and a displaced jaw.

This was his chance. Harry gave it all he got, doing his best to summon his newfound superpowers, and praying that they didn't just come and go as they pleased. It worked this time, and before he knew it, he was grabbing impossible air again, sailing right above the werewolf's head.

'Would've been fun if I wasn't skewered like a bloody shawarma … ' he mused, mid-flight. He never did understand muggle food.

He landed, skidding across the charred ground as smoothly as he could with all that searing pain coursing through his spine . A thick trail of blood splattered across his skid trails. He could smell the ground beneath him; charred grass, blood, fear and sweat.

This was real.  
>This was war.<br>This was madness.

This made him angry.

He looked up, channeling his anger. It was a calm anger. Equipping him to act like before, infusing him with that glorious clarity. Momentarily, his eyes lost its features, uniformly taking on the greenish hue of his iris. It disappeared almost as soon as it came.

Whatever it was, it had come to his aid again. He yanked the steel rod out of his gut, wincing slightly with the pain. It felt like a buzz saw shredding his innards. He could tune it out again … but only just.

No sooner had he yanked the rod out, than his right leg gave way. He recovered quickly, shifting all his weight to the left. It was paralysed, he couldn't feel it at all. He knew that this was permanent damage.

'The cripple who lived …'

He couldn't register shock just then. Right then, he knew he wouldn't need a right leg.

He used the confusion to survey the scene. He could see the assailant now, in all her motherly glory. Pained look on her face, Ms. Weasley was literally levitating bits of her burning home and flinging it mercilessly at the werewolf; the barrage merely slowed it down.  
>The irony was not lost on him.<br>Further off in the distance, Arthur was furiously fending off a small troop of Death Eaters, trying to get Ron, Hermoine and Ginny to safety now that the Anglia was totalled.

He could watch no longer. Balancing himself on his working leg, he hoisted the rod above his shoulder in a classic javelin stance. Clarity and focus pervaded his vision. Channeling every bit of energy he could muster through his left leg and his arm, he felt the muscles bulge out and tense up as his arm swiftly sliced through the air, and the rod went hurtling through the night, almost instantly finding its way home. There was a soft thud as the werewolf came crashing to the ground, and a spray of thick, foul blood came gushing forth from its head where the rod was now lodged.

It was dead.

He had done it.

But that was all he had. He collapsed to the ground, trying desperately to fight it. 'No … not just yet … there might be more of them …just … hang …'. It was no use. Consciousness was slipping from him. He could hear Mrs. Weasley's panicked cries.  
>"Harry! HARRY! …".<p>

Then he tasted dirt. Charred grass, blood, fear and sweat.

Madness.


End file.
